Last Ghost at Gettysburg (17 page)

Once outside T.J. wheeled on Bortnicker.
“Well,
that
was brilliant. What makes you think I want to do
yard work in this heat? And what if the game tonight goes late?”
LouAnne nodded in agreement.

Bortnicker kept his cool. “I have
two
answers,” he replied dramatically, an index finger upraised.
“First, I think a little outside work is a meaningful gesture on
our part because, if you haven’t noticed, we’re clearing out all
the produce in Terri’s garden with our gargantuan appetites.
Besides, LouAnne has already showered and applied a very fragrant
lilac perfume and we wouldn’t dare ask her to get sweaty
again.”

T.J. rolled his eyes and LouAnne blushed.

“And second, our toiling in the hot sun will
give us the perfect excuse to turn in early tonight. By the fifth
inning we’ll have everybody yawning, and we’ll be on our way by ten
as planned. And, oh, one additional observation. I didn’t see
either of
you
coming up with anything to shoot down the
movie idea. You should be thanking me!”

T.J. frowned and LouAnne shook her head,
smiling all the while. “Gotta jet, guys,” she said sweetly. “And
Bortnicker, I hope this means you’re picking up the tab for T.J.’s
pizza.”

“Yeah,” added T.J. “I have a feeling I’m
gonna be
very
hungry come lunchtime.”

But Bortnicker was already sinking his shovel
into the dirt, singing to himself from
The Dan’s
“Bad
Sneakers” about burial ditches being dug that they might not see
coming.

* * * *

“Wait a minute,” said Bortnicker, applying
layers of garlic powder to his pizza slice. “You order a pie with
‘everything on it’ and then you pick off the anchovies? That’s just
cruel.”

“So sue me,” T.J. snapped, lifting a thin
brown strip from his portion and eyeing it suspiciously.

“Makes no difference. You can remove the
anchovy, but its heavenly taste remains.”

The boys immersed themselves in their food,
so happy to be in the air-conditioned room that they neglected to
notice Carlton Elway’s receptionist, Tiffany. She eased into a seat
just inches away, separated from their table only by a six-inch
high frosted glass atop the wooden partition that bisected the
dining area. She’d seen the teens enter and order their food and
hearkened back to their recent visit. The one with the glasses was
a dork, though the other was kind of cute, albeit a bit young for
her. But what really peaked her interest was the conversation
between them and her boss that she’d eavesdropped on, and how Mr.
Elway had complained afterwards of them being nosy and up to no
good. Perhaps if she could bring some juicy info back to him he’d
give her a raise or maybe let her do some ghost tours, where the
tips were good.

“Let’s go over our plan for tonight,” said
Bortnicker.

“I didn’t know we
had
a plan,”
countered T.J.

“Precisely. Must I think of everything?”

“That’s why you’re here.”

“Point taken. Okay then, let’s say we get to
the woods and our ghost shows up. Then what?”

At this point Tiffany fought hard to avoid
gagging on her mouthful of meatballs.
What
ghost?

“Well,” said T.J., “I think I’m gonna have to
assure him that you guys are okay, that none of us is a
threat—”

“But he’s the one with the gun.”

Tiffany’s heavily mascaraed eyes grew wide.
A ghost that shoots people
?

“Yeah, well, it’s because of that we don’t
want to anger him. We’ve gotta feel him out, kind of. Find out how
long he’s been, you know, haunting this place. How he got here.
Why
he got here. See if we could help him in any way.”

“Help him? How? He’s dead!”

“Well, you know how on all those ghost shows
they talk about spirits who are trapped here, bound to this world?
We’ve got to see if there’s a way we could make it possible for him
to go where he’s supposed to. His situation must have something to
do with the battle. He must’ve died in a way that led to some
unresolved business. That’s where you could be valuable. Listen,
Bortnicker, nobody knows more Civil War stuff than you. I think
that if you could at least get his name and regiment, we could
research him and find out more.”

“So, you’re thoroughly convinced this is a
ghost and not some crackpot with a Civil War fantasy?”

“The more I think of it, yeah. That and the
smell.”

“Hmm, tell me about that again.”

“Not much to tell. Kind of a putrid,
decaying, sickly smell. I mean, believe me, you and LouAnne are
gonna have to fight it the whole time. But I think it’s so
important that, no matter how scared we are, we don’t show it.”

“You know what, Big Mon, I’m more afraid of
your uncle finding out than I am of any ghost.”

T.J. nodded. “I believe Uncle Mike knows a
lot more than he’s letting on, but I still think we can’t talk to
him yet.”

“That’s where your cousin comes in. She’s got
him wrapped around her little finger.”

“Not as much as you’d think, man. Remember,
deep inside him there’s still ‘Maddog Mike’, the linebacker. I
don’t want him firing out on us.”

Bortnicker chewed his third slice
thoughtfully. Suddenly he asked, “Think she’d go out with me?”

“Out where?”

“No,
out.
I find myself staring at her
so much, I have to look away. Do you think she knows she has that
effect?”

“Girls always know,” said T.J. “They make
like they don’t, but they do.”

“Like Katie Vickers, right?” said Bortnicker,
raising an eyebrow.

“Katie Vickers? How’d
she
get into
this conversation?”

“Well, she’s like your typical hot-looking
girl who knows she’s hot.” He brushed his unruly hair out of his
eyes. “You can tell in the way she walks, those secret smiles she
gives to her witchy friends.”

“I hadn’t really noticed.”

Bortnicker threw down his napkin. “C’mon,
T.J., give me a break. She’s your dream girl, and you know it! I
remember once you said—”

“Hey,” said T.J., eyeing his friend
suspiciously. “How did this become a Katie Vickers discussion?”

“Well, I—”

“’
Cause it’s over. I never want you to
mention her again in my presence.”

“Okay, okay, cool your jets, Big Mon. I’m
sorry.”

T.J. frowned at his friend, as though
wondering what was spawning all this Katie Vickers talk. “Listen,”
he said finally, “let’s solve the ghost problem first, and then
we’ll concentrate on your love life.”

“Solid!” said Bortnicker triumphantly.
“Tonight the adventure begins!”

“You hope.”

“I
know
. Hey, there’s one slice left.
You gonna eat it?”

“Why don’t you bring it with us?”

The two boys pushed their chairs back and
exited, Bortnicker holding his pizza in a paper napkin, sporting
dribbles of tomato sauce on his tee shirt.

As they left the pizza parlor Tiffany
thoughtfully chewed the last bite of her sandwich. Aside from all
the junior high romance stuff, she’d gotten some great dirt on
these two. She looked at her watch. As usual, she’d overstayed her
lunch hour. But Tiffany wasn’t worried.

Elway was waiting for her when she blew in,
tossing her handbag on the desk.

“Tiffany,” he began, on the edge of
impatience, “do you realize that you’re twenty minutes—”

She stopped him by holding up a pudgy pink
hand. “Mr. Elway, before you go any farther, may I speak with you
for a moment in your office? I have some information that you might
want to hear.”

* * * *

“I knew they were up to something,” Elway
said after listening intently to Tiffany’s story. “You’re sure you
didn’t leave anything out?”

“Well, they started talking about their love
life, or what passes for one at their age. But that’s all the ghost
stuff.”

“And Mike Darcy’s daughter is in cahoots with
them. Hmm. I can’t believe he’s not on to them by now. Oh well,
whatever. Tiffany, you’ve been a real help. This could mean you’re
ready to move up the ladder in the business here. What would you
say to doing a couple of walking tours this week? See if you like
it?”

The girl beamed. “I’d LOVE it!” she squealed,
her gum snapping.

“Okay, then. Here’s the script we follow for
the twilight candlelight tour. You’ve got to memorize it more or
less, and then you’ll be good to go.”

She plucked the stapled copy-paper booklet
from Elway’s fingers before he could rethink his promise. “I’ll
just take this with me,” she chirped, practically skipping back to
the welcoming desk as an elderly couple entered the building.

Left alone, Elway processed the information.
Although the girl was well-meaning, she was basically incompetent
as an assistant. However, she seemed positive in the details she’d
overheard.

Al Warren
had
to know about this
stuff. Probably Bruce Morrison, too. Why was everyone shutting him
out? He was Gettysburg’s premier ghost hunter! Well, he’d show
them. Tonight he would stake out Mike Darcy’s house on Seminary
Ridge and follow those kids, armed with every piece of paranormal
equipment he owned. This had to be worth at least a one hour
documentary...maybe even a book! And maybe, just maybe, he’d
finally get to see an honest-to-goodness
ghost.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The beginning of the interleague game between
the Sox and Phillies was everything the teens hoped it would be. By
the time the Darcy clan and their two boarders had settled into
their cushy leather seats in the family room and begun working
their way through bowls of popcorn and Doritos, the Phils had
loaded the bases on the Red Sox pitcher, Tim Wakefield.

“His knuckler’s not knuckling,” said T.J.

“You think?” cracked LouAnne.

“How’s the running coming?” asked Mike,
changing the subject.

“You’ve gotta see T.J., Dad,” said LouAnne,
licking orange Doritos cheese off her fingers. “He’s really
improved. I think he could make our varsity team!”

T.J. blushed and LouAnne added, “Of course,
I’m still better, but...”

Mike shook his head and scooped up some more
popcorn.

Wakefield got out of the inning having given
up only one run, and the kids were secretly disappointed. They
needed a blowout here, not a nail-biter that would keep the family
up until late.

But the Phillies came through for them,
tacking on a run here and there. Finally, they broke it open in the
sixth inning on a towering Ryan Howard homer. “That’s it,” said
Bortnicker, “I surrender. The Sox have had it.” He stretched
theatrically.

“Told you the Phils would smash ‘em,”
chortled LouAnne.

“That Howard is a moose,” said Mike
admiringly. “Would’ve made a good tight end.”

“See? It always comes back to football,”
chided his wife.

“I think we’ll turn in, Aunt Terri,” said
T.J., rising slowly from his comfy chair. He kissed his aunt on the
forehead. “Thanks for the snacks. They were great.”

“I second that emotion, Mrs. D.,” said
Bortnicker as the two boys made for the stairs.

“Well, I guess this party’s over,” said Mike,
clicking off the remote.

“We running tomorrow, Cuz?” asked LouAnne,
playing her role perfectly.

“No question. See you at seven.”

“I guess I’ll go up too, then,” she
replied.

By 10:00 P.M. the house was dead quiet, save
for the window air conditioner humming in the Darcys’ bedroom. At
10:30 P.M. precisely T.J. eased open his window and looked down
towards LouAnne’s room. Within seconds her head popped out as
well.

“Ready?” he whispered.

“Yeah. I’ve got a flashlight for us. You guys
are wearing dark clothes, right?”

“The darkest stuff we had with us.”

“Then let’s do it.” She eased out onto the
porch roof, her sneakers lightly scraping the shingles. T.J. and
Bortnicker followed suit, leaving their beds behind filled with
pillows to simulate their sleeping bodies “They do that in all the
prison break movies,” said Bortnicker.

Once outside, it was a quick climb down to
the porch, and then they were in the front yard. The moon was a
brilliant orb, the stars twinkling like birthday candles. “Man,
it’s bright,” whispered T.J. “Don’t know whether that’s good or
bad.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” hissed LouAnne.
“Let’s make our way down Seminary Ridge, but stay off the road till
we can turn off for the woods. We don’t want any passing cars to
spot us in the residential area. This is a small town, and word
will get back to my dad before you know it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Bortnicker.

They set off on their journey, cautiously
checking left and right for automobile headlights, their hearts
pounding with anticipation and excitement.

As the teens made their way along the
tree-canopied street of the residential section, T.J. cut a glance
at his cousin who strode purposefully to his left. Her eyes had
that focused look that Uncle Mike might call “getting her game-face
on.” Bortnicker, he surmised, was probably frightened to death but
tried to play it off, whistling a tune through his teeth.

“Bortnicker,” hissed LouAnne, “Not so loud.
And that’s ‘Reeling in the Years’ by the way.” Her remark
temporarily broke the tension. Bortnicker had yet to stump her with
Steely Dan.

They were almost to the place where the
public road ended and Pitzer’s Woods began when a pair of oncoming
headlights appeared around a bend roughly fifty yards ahead.

“Into the brush! Now!” said T.J., grabbing
his mates by their shirts and diving as one into a clump of
bushes.

Suddenly they saw Elway, who had his head
down while fiddling with his EVP recorder, frozen like the
proverbial deer.

They watched as the police cruiser came to a
stop literally at his feet, its driver’s side door opening slowly.
The ghost hunter squared his shoulders as though trying not to look
stupid.